Setting Sail, Coming Home
by anonymous moose
Summary: They pieced her back together, brought her back from the brink of death more than once, but Shepard isn't alive. Not yet. Shepard/Vakarian.


"Oh fuck, _Garrus."_

He growled something against her throat, maybe her name. Didn't really matter. Not much did, at the moment, as he braced over her, one soft-leather hand ghosting up and down her side as his weight bore down against her pelvis. Her legs were around his thin waist, the inside of her knees resting on his hip spurs, the thin fabric of their running attire all that was keeping them apart.

"Should get the oil," he rumbled, flanging voice husky and barely together. "Chafing."

Good old Garrus. Always looking out for her. Shepard pulled his face up to hers and kissed him, forcing her tongue into his mouth before pulling away and nipping him lightly on the chin.

"Fuck the oil," Shepard shot back, breathless. "Fuck the chafing."

He quickly resumed his work at her throat and shoulder, nipping and licking and she tilted her head to allow him greater access. He loved her collar bone for some reason, but she loved the feeling of his tongue against her skin, so she never questioned it. His hot breath made her shudder as he gently tugged on the waist band of her track pants. He could tear them off right now, but he enjoyed this part of the process almost as much as she did.

For all the differences between them, all the things that had made their physicality so difficult (and she'd be lying if she said it wasn't) - the chirality, the chafing, the occasional painful moment where he scratched too hard or she braced poorly against a spur - for all of that, she had never had anyone whose weight felt so comfortable against her. Heavy and pinioning and balanced and _perfect._

And if she was honest? Sometimes she almost enjoyed the chafing. She'd die before she'd say those words aloud, but she figured he already knew.

Things were beginning to settle into a very pleasant rhythm. She had her hands up his shirt and squeezing at the beginnings of his waist and he was making those noises that sounded like thunder that drove her crazy. His hand found the back of her thigh and squeezed as he nipped her jaw and she groaned out something incoherent that made him pull back just long enough to look smug before he kissed her again. Unwilling to wait any longer, she grabbed his hand and stuck it down the front of her track pants, and-

_Bip bip boop._

They froze. Their eyes shifted towards the bedroom door. Shepard held her breath, waiting. For a second, it seemed like they imagined it, and then-

_Bip bip boop._

Garrus collapsed on top of her, the weight of him suddenly very _im_perfect, and he groaned miserably.

"Don't answer it," he said, voice muffled by the pillow. But he knew she would anyway.

Shepard ran a hand along the back of his neck and squeezed reassuringly, then promptly shoved him off. He rolled onto his back and sighed, but he wasn't too disappointed. The moment had been tenuous at best, another product of maddening boredom. It had gotten to the point where anything that was even vaguely reminiscent of duty could tear her away from him, so desperate was she for anything worthwhile to do. If it were anyone else, she'd feel the need to reassure him of her affection constantly, but it was Garrus. He knew how she felt.

She could tell it was beginning to wear at him too, this endless shore leave. Particularly when everyone else they knew (with the sole exceptions of Tali and Liara) had seen some kind of serious action in the past few months. At first for her benefit, and then rapidly for his own, he had begun to participate in Shepard's activities as much as he could. Going on morning runs across the moors, spending time sparring in the gym, staying sober enough to get her home, and responding every time she pressed up against him. Hell, that was how they got where they were - a morning run, just tired and sweaty enough to be dangerous, and when she touched him, she couldn't think of a reason to stop touching him.

It would have been heaven, if either of them were built to sit still long enough to enjoy it. But they weren't. They were just killing time the only ways they knew how that didn't involve actively going out and looking for trouble. It hadn't _really_ been fun since that first glorious week after her physical therapy had concluded and her cybernetic implants had fully rebooted, when she was just so glad to be _herself_ again.

But she wasn't herself. Not really. Not yet.

Shepard hesitated at the doorway, looked back at him laying on the bed, looking tired and forlorn and if she was another kind of woman it would be damned appealing to just dive back in and to hell with the world.

Instead, she smiled. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder," she said in a singsong tone.

Garrus lifted his head and gave her a comically skeptical look, mandibles flaring outward, then dropped back down to stare at the ceiling.

Shepard hit the door release and it slid open. A marine she recognized was waiting outside, thick jawed with brown hair, hands behind his back.

"Sawyer?"

He saluted. "Commander," he said in his twangy drawl. He glanced down at her tank top, track pants, and bare feet. "I'm... to escort you to your meeting. Ma'am."

"Meeting?" Shepard furrowed her brow. "What meeting?"

Sawyer blinked, then cleared his throat nervously. "I was told you'd been informed, ma'am."

Shepard reached down to check her omni-tool and realized it wasn't there - she hadn't brought it with on her run. She turned and took a few steps back to the bedroom door.

"Garrus." Her tone made him sit up immediately. "Omni-tool." He reached over onto the nightstand nearest him, grabbed the bracelet, and threw it. She caught it easily, slipped it on, and checked the messages.

There was one from Hackett. Requesting a personal meeting aboard his ship, the _Arcadia._

"Fuck." Shepard cursed quietly. It wasn't like her to do so in front of subordinates, particularly ones she didn't know, but she couldn't help it - she was _beyond_ pissed. "Give me ten minutes, Sawyer. I'll be ready."

He nodded. "Understood, ma'am," he said politely, turning away as she shut the door.

"What is it?" Garrus asked as she stomped back into the bedroom and threw open the closet.

"Meeting with Hackett," she said curtly.

"Marching orders?" He asked, and she nearly spun around and glared at him for even bringing up the hope, the possibility that it might finally be time to _work_ again.

"Don't know," she got out through gritted teeth.

She hadn't worn her fucking omni-tool. Just once. Just this one time she had let it slide because the complacency had finally gotten to her, and now she'd show up late to a meeting with the admiral looking like an undisciplined recruit and feeling like an idiot.

"This _fucking_ leave," she muttered, grabbing her uniform and throwing it on the bed.

She started to tear off her clothes, getting ready to jump in the shower and quickly rinse off the smell of sweat and turian when she felt three fingered hands on her shoulders and felt his mandibles brush against the back of her head. She took a breath and felt most of the anger fade away. He didn't say anything, and for that she was grateful. There was nothing more that needed to be said.

"Try and keep yourself available," Shepard said, turning and grabbing her uniform before she looked him in the eye. Her tone was all business, but he could probably see the desperation in her eyes. "Selfish, but if this isn't what I'm hoping, I'm going to need some _serious_ cheering up."

Garrus didn't bat an eye. "Here when you need me, Shepard."

She blinked, then walked up and pulled him into a quick kiss. Good old Garrus. Damn it all to hell if he wasn't exactly who she needed.

* * *

Shepard was pacing the shuttle. Up and down the rows, back and forth across in front of him. Hands on her hips, or flexing across her chest to stretch the joints, or rechecking a seal or a heat sink. It wasn't really twitchy - she didn't look like she'd just taken a hit of red sand - but for Shepard, it was odd. She might as well have been running back and forth and hyperventilating.

"Calm down, Lola," Vega said from his seat, arms crossed and eyes closed. He had been dozing on the way to the dropoff point, which was normally how Shepard handled missions this routine and it was profoundly surreal for Garrus to see the positions reversed for once.

He looked much the same - short hair, big muscles, thick neck. His heavy gray armor was new, N7 designation on the chest and a red stripe down the right arm just like Shepard's. She'd been damn proud when she first saw it, and for once he'd actually blushed. Cortez caught it - he wouldn't live that down for a while.

Shepard either didn't hear him or didn't care to answer. She kept pacing. Garrus stuck a foot out and she tripped, catching herself on one of the handbars along the roof and looking surprised at him. He shrugged. Shepard finally seemed to get the message and swung down into the seat next to him, crossing her arms.

Experimentally, Garrus leaned and nudged her with his shoulder. Shepard leaned over and did the same.

The physical comfort with each other they had developed over the last several months apparently extended beyond their personal quarters these days. Garrus was okay with that. They didn't have anything left about them to hide, but a good working relationship relied on keeping things comfortably professional. A little nudge was all he needed to remove that worry from his mind.

"You okay?" He asked, knowing the answer.

Shepard didn't answer. She closed her eyes and attempted to doze.

"No worries, Lola. We get in, we plant the bomb, we get out. Simple and easy." Vega yawned, squeezing his eyes shut tighter as he did so. "Nothing to it."

"I'm fully aware of what a waste of my skills this is, lieutenant."

"Wow, pulling rank? You must be nervous." Vega grinned softly. "They're just tryin' to ease you back in, Commander. No throwin' you into the deep water after so long ashore."

Shepard stood up again and Garrus rolled his eyes. Shepard could lead this mission in her sleep, they all knew it. She was just pent-up. Brought back memories of that one night before the Omega 4 relay, heading up to her cabin with a bottle of wine he couldn't drink and music he didn't like. Except that had been an uncertain outcome. This wasn't.

Shepard leaned on the hatch and stared out the viewport. The mountainous terrain of western China sped by below and around them, Cortez weaving the shuttle through tight canyons. Garrus was sitting right next to the door, rifle cradled on his lap and feeling damned good to be back in his cobalt blue armor.

He was glad he'd picked that seat when he heard her start to sing quietly.

"I set my sail,  
fly the wind it will take me  
back to my home.  
Sweet home."

Garrus stared at her. If seeing her pace before a mission was odd, this was _beyond_ surreal. She was looking out the viewport at nothing in particular. Or maybe at her reflection in the glass, he couldn't tell. He glanced around. Vega had his eyes closed, about ten feet away. Cortex was up front, in the cockpit. None of them seemed to hear her. He didn't even know if _Shepard_ knew she was doing it.

"Lie on my back,  
clouds are making way for me.  
I'm coming home.  
Sweet home."

"ETA two minutes, ladies and gentlemen." Cortex piped up from the front.

At first Garrus wasn't sure she heard him, but something changed in her eyes and the set of her jaw.

"Alright," she said, loud enough for Vega to hear. "Let's get ready."

* * *

"Damn it Steve, where the _hell_ are you?" Shepard fired in quick staccato bursts, taking the head off husk after husk. Garrus had positioned himself behind her, and he hadn't missed once with his rifle. Vega held down the trigger on his Revenant until the barrel glowed red, then he swapped his heat sink and kept firing. The husks were everywhere, far too many to hold off forever, especially with only a handful of heat sinks left.

"_Mierda!_" Vega threw his Revenant to the ground and pulled out his shotgun, blasting away with the semi-auto Scimitar. "Got any bright ideas, Lola?"_  
_

"I'm open to suggestions!" A husk got too close and Shepard had to draw her omni-blade and slice across it's throat. It fell, and she put a handful of bullets into it's back to make sure it stayed down. "You got any, Garrus?"

He fired, dropped another husk, swapped his heat sink as effortlessly as he always had. "Remember that time you found me holed up on Omega surrounded by hundreds of heavily armed and vengeful mercs?"

Shepard slammed the butt of her rifle into another husk and James put it down for her. "Yeah?"

Garrus fired again, another one down. "This is worse."

Shepard found her gun overheating as burning hot steam shot from the exhaust vents, and threw it down, drawing her Carnifex. The pistol could put a husk down in one shot if her aim was true, and it often was. She threw her hand up to her ear again.

"Cortez I swear to god-"

The shuttle appeared behind them, slowly rising. The hatch opened, and Cortez was in the gunner's seat as the heavy turret slid out and disengaged it's safeties. He began to fire, and the husks fell like wheat to a scythe.

"Move!" Shepard shouted, shoving her team back. Garrus jumped first, leaping from the landing pad to the airborne shuttle easily. He stuck close to the hatch. Vega made it next, Garrus grabbing an arm to help him up, and he ran to the cockpit to take the shuttle off autopilot.

Shepard was the last, as always. She fired wildly behind her, ran to the edge, and jumped, careening into Garrus' arms. "Punch it, Vega!" She shouted, and he did.

The shuttle took off a bit too fast, and Garrus almost fell to the deck. Cortez disengaged the turret, the hatch closing as it slid back into place. Shepard ran to the viewport and braced at the edges. The overrun Alliance base shrank behind them, then a brief burst of light, and it was gone. The shuttle shook a little, from turbulence or the shockwave, it was hard to tell.

She took a breath and blew it out. Steve levered himself out of the gunner's seat and slapped her on the back.

"Mission accomplished," he said, laughing a little with relief. "Good to have you back, Commander."

Shepard just nodded, leaning against the hull of the shuttle, smiling weakly.

"Now to make sure Mr. Vega doesn't fly us into a damn mountain." Cortez headed for the cockpit, placing a hand on Garrus' shoulder as he passed. He levered himself into the co-pilot's seat and said something which made Vega laugh, but Garrus wasn't paying attention. He was looking at Shepard.

She looked tired, but not like she did after a run. This was different, a relieved sort of weariness that settled around her shoulders like a cloak. Her mouth was open in a small, unrestrained smile. Garrus was struck by how long it had been since he'd seen her looking like this. He had been so unbelievably relieved that she was even _alive_ after the war ended that he never noticed any difference, but looking at her now? It was like night and day. Might as well have been an entirely different person.

He walked up alongside her and placed a hand on the middle of her back. There was a stupid question he had to ask.

"Okay?" He said with a grin.

Shepard laughed, giddy and unguarded, staring out the window as the shuttle left the atmosphere. Heading for the orbiting fleet, and the Normandy.

"Better," she said, and she met his eyes and they were full of fire and life and _Shepard_ once more. "I'm home."


End file.
